


the magic spell you cast

by haseo



Series: ABOverse [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Don’t copy to another site, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Suggestive Themes, Teen Crush, Teenagers, Uncertainty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 13:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18477025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haseo/pseuds/haseo
Summary: Markus enjoys marking Connor way too much, despite the fact that he’s an alpha and the other is a beta.





	the magic spell you cast

**Author's Note:**

> yes, this is in the same universe as the other stories
> 
> head’s up: nothing happens, but there are suggestive thoughts. connor’s 14 & markus is 17 here.
> 
> & this series is now complete on ao3 (rejoice, for the horror has ended!). i won't be posting the two other stories since it's just more smut, but i think things are clear enough to end it here.

Markus has been staring at the same page in his math book for the past hour. Instead of checking his phone every few seconds, he’s been sneaking glances at Connor.

The other boy has given up all semblance of doing his homework in favour of hoping to pass out on the floor. Markus would have been on his desk, but when Connor came over after school, he automatically moved to the floor with Connor, who took out a thick literature book and read a page before closing it and deciding to use it as a pillow.

Markus has drawn on Connor since he could remember. Simple faces with varied expressions, flowers, stars, connecting dots on his arms into something like constellations, but since he’d presented, the urge to mark the other boy had grown stronger.

Once, Connor let him draw Jericho’s band logo on the side of his neck, and Markus’ insides had flared and flopped sloppily in all directions. He felt an intense gnawing for the first time and was thankful he’d stopped himself from drawing on the back of Connor’s neck, getting as close as possible without actually indulging.

Carl had given him a sharp look, when he noticed the night Amanda picked up Connor, but never said anything to him. He might’ve told Amanda, but she didn’t treat him differently.

Today, Markus wanted to mark Connor again.

The other was spread lazily on his rug, books and homework forgotten, staring vacuously at the ceiling. Markus took in the direction of his hair and how he looked from this angle. His legs were facing away from Markus, towards the door; a hand was on his stomach while the other shot out across the floor. Sometimes, Connor would press the back of it against the cool wood floor. Now, it lay limply.

Markus studies the lines of his thighs, sometimes swaying in the air as Connor’s chest took in shallow breaths. He would like to unbutton the white school shirt hiding the fascinating palette of Connor’s skin.

His eyelashes were moving, proof he was still awake, even if quiet, too hot to complain anymore.

Markus doesn’t know what he’ll do. Connor is a beta, but he’s all Markus wants.

Science would call him an aberration, even though Markus had been fighting this longing for years now.

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“I think so, but I’m not hungry.” This happened often due to the heat.

“Dad’ll just make you eat junk food,” Markus laughs. “Sorry you have to stay.”

“Nah, I’m glad you guys are okay with having me,” he sighs. “I swear, if I didn’t know Elijah wanted my mom as his, I’d think he were keen on her.”

Markus is grateful to Elijah for not only introducing their parents, but for sometimes requesting Amanda at his business, perfecting his smart technology. Markus feels guilty since it means mother and son don’t spend as much time together, but he probably wouldn’t see Connor in his room as much if Elijah didn’t need Amanda’s feedback and expertise.

When Connor was younger, they would both go and wait for Amanda at Elijah’s work. It was boring, and they spent many days tinkering with anything out in the open, getting bored with vending machines, and wishing they could leave.

If the status quo changed anytime soon, he’d probably make up excuses to see Connor at his place. He just isn’t sure how much Carl would let him get away with.

“Hey,” Markus sifts through his pencil case, “you feel up to letting me draw on you?”

Connor tilts his head back to make eye contact and Markus can only imagine the way his neck stretches, “Sure.” He reaches out the hand resting on his stomach and Markus reaches for his wrist, feeling the heat that had pooled from the contact on his body.

His shoulders and back tingle at the hotness.

Markus gently turns Connor’s wrist so he can draw on the inside of it. He eyes the skin, trailing down the forearm to decide what he’s going to do.

“What’s it gonna be, Boznańska?”

Markus tries to hold back his smirk, “Nothing special.”

“Uh-huh, said the guy who once drew a kick-ass portrait of my mom on my arm. I felt like a real bad boy.”

“You know how to make a guy feel talented.”

Connor scoffs, “You’re plenty talented.”

Markus decides he wants to replicate the morning he meticulously drew on Connor’s neck, close to where a mate would be marked, with the other patiently allowing him to work. Instead of his favorite band’s logo, though, Markus wanted something more personalized. To mark Connor as his.

He moves closer and cradles Connor’s wrist in his hand, glancing down to see Connor expectantly watching him before getting to work.

Connor flexes the tips of his fingers and shifts slightly, probably ticklish, but he doesn’t move the area Markus is working on. The actions light an erratic flame in Markus’ chest.

The design is by no means complicated: two intertwined squares with accented corners, but the precision and straight lines he wants to form allow him to keep Connor’s wrist under his hands.

When he takes a moment to pull back and inspect the angles are to his liking, he notices Connor still staring at him. It’s startling because it’s usually the other way around, but he covers it with a smile and goes back to work without waiting for a reaction.

Sometimes, his multiliner only grazes Connor’s skin, and the minute way he flexes his fingers distracts Markus. When Markus presses down with conviction, a current passes between them, both tensing.

When the design is done, Markus again inspects the lines and is glad it came out clean.

Connor doesn’t move from his hold, waiting for the signal that he’s finished.

Indulging long enough, Markus releases him with a shrug. “See? Nothing special.”

Markus watches Connor look at the design on his wrist and appreciates the way the light through his window lights up the translucent parts of Connor’s skin. He looks delicate, like a flower, or paper against the sun.

“Wow,” Markus says before he can stop himself.

Connor grins at the drawing on the inside of his wrist, “My line.” He drops his arm above his head, near Markus, so the drawing is facing upwards, as if showing it off, not just letting the ink dry. “You’ve got the precision of a printer, didja know that?”

Molten lava courses low through Markus’ abdomen, roiled tension coiling and coiling, like a snake waiting for a reason to strike.

How did it come to this? When they were younger, Connor was a playmate, a friend he finally could spend long, boring times with since Leo never wanted to play with him.

He remembers the first time Connor let him use watercolours on his face, thin cheeks puffed out to give Markus more room to draw. It, of course, resulted in a very distorted final piece, but they’d both laughed at the horror that was the finished product. At that time, he’d not yet been arrested by Connor’s brown eyes or eyelashes, the curves of his face.

Markus folds an arm over his chest while the other goes up to rub at his face, unable to look away from Connor’s supine figure.

Something is really wrong with him, and he doesn’t know why.

He’s done countless internet searches, checked the library, spoken to school nurses, and tried to rationalize his behaviors, but he couldn’t find any answers regarding his feelings. He even talked to his counselors and some teachers in the specialized classes for alphas and omegas.

Alphas usually mated with omegas, but betas were, ultimately, the lucky ones. They got to be ordinary. They didn’t have weird things happen to their bodies that meant an extra curriculum throughout primary education. They didn’t have to be quarantined off due to ruts or heats, needed no medications to suppress reactions their bodies naturally did, and they got to be with whomever they wanted without much societal repercussions, despite the biological setbacks.

Point is, Markus wanted to be what Connor was, be something that matched him.

Alphas and betas took omega partners, not each other; but only betas could take other betas as partners. Even alphas mating with other alphas, rare as they were, were more common than alpha and beta couples.

Markus doesn’t even know when he’d decided he wanted Connor to be a part of his family.

Everything was completely pear-shaped.

“Hey,” Connor says, bringing Markus out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?” Markus automatically makes eye contact, already having been staring in his direction. The sunlight still making Connor glow under an ephemeral light.

“Nothing. You looked…” a shrug, “troubled.”

Despite the clawing feeling still working against his insides, Markus smiles at him, calming. He wouldn’t trade any of his time with Connor, though. He wants everything, anything they can have together, no matter what.

He reaches out to push at Connor’s shoulder, relaxing. Connor makes a sound of protest, not enjoying the way Markus has disturbed the sweaty shirt on his back, against the rug.

Markus laughs softly, “I’m never troubled, when you’re around.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> connor, 12, showing off his upper arm: check it out, ma, i’m going to join a biker gang.  
> amanda, with a mom look trying to hide her amusement: oh, are you?  
> carl, shaking his head, thinking: /thank, god, it wasn’t another neck mark/  
> leo, somewhere, probably through telepathy, accusingly: HE GETS IT FROM YOU, DAD!  
> carl: *facepalming*
> 
> &, ofc, it’s [obvious what markus drew](https://66.media.tumblr.com/594a0167f153639854880f4f0f6d9d67/tumblr_ppxi4tZ9801rdwm5do1_400.jpg)


End file.
